


This is Why We Fight

by StaticPrince



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaticPrince/pseuds/StaticPrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider and you aren't sure what to do anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Why We Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I'm really really sorry if this sucks it's the first thing ive really actually written in years and im still trying to get into the flow of things? regardless though, if you do happen to like it maybe comment and/or leave me suggestions? thank you in advance!! C:

You slid out from under the blanket as gently as you could, your skin feeling strange with the sudden lack of warmth. Your feet hit the icy floor and you contemplated whether or not to climb back into bed. Resisting the urge, you padded softly across the weathered wooden floor, avoiding the spots you knew creaked with resistance to your weight, and cast a look back to John, who was snoring lightly, dark hair visibly tangled, and mouth gaping open. You half smiled to yourself and snuck into the attached bathroom, cursing silently as the hinges squeaked.   
Once safely isolated in the white tiled room you flipped on the light and splashed cold water onto your face. When you looked up and your eyes met the mirror, you almost wanted to cry. Your hair was shaggy and filthy. It hung down in your face like stage curtains hiding your eyes. You grabbed two bobby pins and pinned your greasy bangs back. With a now full view of your face you felt worse than before. You looked ghostly. Your skin was translucent, blue veins visible beneath your eyelids and across your bare chest. Your eyes looked hollow and and sunken. The rid rimming your eyes matched the veins on top of them. Your forehead was breaking out due to your lack of interest in personal hygiene. The raised, parallel scars across your shoulders and tops of your arms practically lit up purple in the chilly temperature. Your face and neck wore scabs and sores from your episode two weeks prior. You had been panicking because you couldn't feel anything. You desperately dug your dirty nails as far into your skin as you could, begging aloud to god you don’t believe in to let you feel something, anything, just please, please you needed to feel again. You needed to know that you were more than a walking corpse.  
John had had to pry your surprisingly strong hands away. when you looked him in the eye you broke down crying. The rest of the night was spent sitting in his lap with your face buried in his neck sobbing as he rocked you back and forth whispering into your hair, “I love you, Dave. I love you more than anything. I promise we’ll get through this”.   
When you woke up you were tucked snug beneath the blanket and he was gone. Laying on his pillow was a note written in blue gel pen explaining to you that he had the opening shift at the bakery that morning, and he had to buy groceries afterwards so he’d probably be home around three or four that afternoon.   
You didn't get out of bed that day. You flipped the television on for background noise but didn't pay attention. The only thing occupying your mind was how bad you wanted to kill yourself. You listened as the front door opened, as John sighed in relief after the crinkle of plastic bags being placed on the counter top, as cabinets opened and closed, as the fridge slammed shut. You didn't move when he walked into the room. Or when he leaned down and kissed your head.   
He approached the dresser parallel to the bed and began the tedious act of undoing every single button. You waited patiently until he’d removed his white undershirt and tossed it aside you let the words fall from your mouth. “I want to kill myself.”. It came out clean and emotionless. You didn't stop or stutter or choke up. You could feel him staring at you from where he stood.   
What happened after that is kind of vague. You remember him crying and holding you tight at first, and not leaving you alone after. He sat on the side of the tub when you used the toilet, he watched over you carefully as a mother hawk when you went to the silverware drawer, he hid all the painkillers, locked the windows and installed an alarm system. He would not allow you to shower alone (which, to be honest wasn't that big of a deal, you rarely showered anyway). Rose had called to check up on you-- something that she hadn't done in a while. She was very busy with college, you knew. She offered to fly over to see you. You told her not to. She asked you why not and you were silent for a good five minutes. She waited patiently for your response. You hung up the phone. John said you shouldn't push people away like that. He said Rose cares about you and that she was only trying to help. You told him to fuck off. You regretted it when he looked away from you, cobalt eyes less vibrant than you remembered.

The sound of the sink gurgling and attempting to drain through clogged pipes brought you back to the here and now.  
You snuck silently as you’d come back into the bedroom, clambered onto the mattress and rolled over until your head rested on your partner’s chest. He sleepily wrapped his arms around you. John understood that you were sick. He understood you had to fight through every day. You thought about how unfair it was that he had to be your babysitter more often than your boyfriend. He didn't have to, though. He could’ve left when things got worse. He could walk out any moment he wanted to. But he didn't. You realized in that moment, for whatever reason, he loved you more than anything. He saw you as the most beautiful person in the world. He wanted you to be safe and healthy and happy. He believed that you could be. He believed you could make it. Right then in there, wrapped in his arms, listening to the rhythm of his breath, you decided that maybe you should give it one more try.


End file.
